


all the balm in olympus

by Missy



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Undeath, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her voice.  It haunted him then and it haunts him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the balm in olympus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZombieFest '14, prompt: 116. Greek Mythology -- Orpheus/Eurydice -- Eurydice didn't want to return from the underworld...and Orpheus unknowingly paid a high price for her return.

Her voice.

He had walked many a mile to hear it again. He’d defied the gods and given his gift, his golden voice, to be given the chance to simply see her. 

He had lusted after the sight of her – had prayed and worked and cursed and toiled to have the privilege of seeing her one more time.

And now he had her.

He also had a boat filled with the scent of dead flesh and the guilty weight of his disobedient actions weighing him down like led, but he was willing to pay that small price for having his beloved back in his life.

Sweet Eurydice. He could still taste the snake’s poison on his lips from her wedding day’s death.

Orpheus knew he owed a debt to the gods. His pride in his own actions was overweening, for how many had managed to fool Hades? He would have to make a sacrifice to Aphrodite, and to Athena. A war had been waged for her, and a war had been won.

Only when they reached the safety of their home did he notice it.

His first look at her face had shown little change. Her eyes were still steady and her expressions governed by the romanticism buried like a thorn in her heart. She was still sweet of look and of temperament. Orpheus thought himself lucky and well-ridden of the evil mischief of the Gods and raced on, until they were both in the safety of his home. 

That was when he heard it for the first time. That low, penetrating hum. That moaning chant that only the dead should make, that only the dead should hear.

He tried to shut it out as the years stretched on. He tried to ignore he vacant eyes and the absence of her kind warmth. When she asked for warm meat, fresh from the hinds of antelopes and deer, he did nothing but hunt to feed her instead of questioning her odd desires. She was otherwise herself, maddeningly so. Sweet to the forest creatures and the sweet animals around her - until she was out of his sight. He learned to mop the blood trails and not to ask her questions.

But it would enter his mind and again, he’d be reminded that her normalcy was just a trick of light and shadow. He knew full well that Hades had given him back his bride in body – though not in mind nor in soul. And so the low, sweet cry of Eurydice’s voice went on haunting him no matter what he did. He was doomed for all eternity to endure it; to feel a sip of ambrosia roll across his tongue without knowing again the sweet soul of her core. She seemed to eternally sing a song that could not or would not catch upon his mind. The low, sweet drone dug under his skin like a weevil, blotting out any other sound but the one she made subaurally. 

This would be his hell. A life of perfect health – and of perfect companionship – with the shadow on the wall.


End file.
